暮春时节，海棠以胭脂染透枝桠，将半阙宋词悬于檐角 。五瓣浅笑在风中轻颤，恰似杨玉环醉酒后的腮红， 连雨丝都不忍惊扰这份娇柔。那些低垂的蓓蕾是被晨露吻醒的星辰 在绿叶间闪烁着温润的光泽。当细雨为她披上鲛绡， 珠泪顺着花瓣滚落，在青石板上敲出平仄的韵脚。 零落成泥时，她将褪色的裙裾化作春泥， 却在根系里埋下新的花期 —— 这短暂的盛放，原是用刹那的璀璨注解永恒的守望。

In late spring, crabapple blooms stain branches with rouge, hanging half a Song dynasty poem from eaves. Five-petaled smiles quiver in the breeze, like Yang Yuhuan’s blushing cheeks after wine, too delicate for even rain to disturb. Bowed buds are dewdrop-kissed stars, glinting softly among green leaves. When mist weaves her a silk veil, teardrops roll down petals, tapping metered rhythms on cobblestones. As she dissolves into earth, her fading gown becomes nourishment, yet beneath soil lies a new cycle—this fleeting bloom is but a spark igniting an endless vigil.